


Holding tight...

by aljohnson



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Brothels, Deviance, F/M, Hysteria, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Sex, Young Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So. Series 3, episode 5. My version of Phryne 'holding him to that'.</p><p>Rated E for subject matter, language, sexual content, and 'adult themes'. You have been warned - if this isn't going to be your thing, I totally understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding tight...

As he sat on the chaise, Phryne’s soothing voice and tender fingers lulling him into a highly relaxed state, his mind went back to the afternoon he knew Phryne was about to ask him about.

It was so long ago; before Rosie, before the war, before he had been the shell of the man who had gone to fight for King and Country, before the Police Strike of ’23, before the slow crumbling of his marriage, before the slow realisation of exactly how much he cared for this woman who now held him in her arms.

He could never have known life would bring him to this point. Jack had never told anyone exactly how shocked that afternoon had left him, but it was just so typical of Phryne to get him to lower his guard like this. As Phryne’s clever fingers massaged his scalp, he found the memories returning.

 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

“Cadet Robinson!” Jack flinched at the use of his name in such a manner. It was all still so new. He was learning so much, so quickly and he was keenly anticipating qualifying from being a cadet and becoming a proper Constable. His mother and father were so proud of him, their eager, sporty lad taking on such a responsible role. Oh, it was dangerous, and Jack had seen that his mother had been worried when he had said he was joining the Constabulary, but he had assured her that he would always be careful. Always careful.

So far, there had been a lot of running along laneways after some of the city’s more athletic criminals. There had been a lot of learning of statutes and by-laws and constabulary regulations. Jack had sat his first exam the previous week, and his Inspector said he could expect the results any day. Jack thought it had gone quite well, but he was taking nothing for granted.

“Yes Sir” he saluted as he stood in front of Inspector Sanderson.

“Robinson, you know that here at City Central we find ourselves surrounded by the more sordid members of the local criminal fraternity; the prostitutes on Little Lon, the opium dens, the bloody chinks all over the sodding place, taking over more and more of our city’s buildings almost weekly.”

“Yes Sir.” Jack replied, nervously. Jack didn’t mind the Chinese people, actually. There was a little restaurant, above one of the laundries on Bourke Street, and the food there was much better than the pie cart, in Jack’s opinion. And much cheaper; an important consideration on a Cadet’s meagre wage. Some of the other Cadets tried to rib him about it; ‘you don’t know what you’re eating Robinson’, ‘could be bloody anything in them things’. Jack thought that you had absolutely no chance of knowing for sure what the pie from the pie cart might contain. And he was learning the odd word of Mandarin, which he thought might come in useful at some point.

“Here’s the task, Robinson. The lads over in Vice have got wind of a highly questionable brothel on Corrs Lane, they are going to do a raid, and it’s all hands on board.”

“A raid, Sir?”

“Yes, Robinson. Any problems with that?”

“No Sir, may I ask Sir. I’ve never been on a raid before, what do I do?”

“Well, the important thing is to secure the building, and to make sure that as few people as possible escape. You round them all up, help the other officers to get everyone you’ve arrested in the van, and then you take an inventory of all the items of evidence that are at the scene.”

“Items of evidence, Sir?”

“Yes Robinson.”

“In a brothel, Sir?” Jack was confused. He didn’t want to admit to his Inspector that he only had the vaguest idea what went on inside a brothel.

“Robinson?” snapped the Inspector, looking at the Cadet with a strange look in his eye.

“Sorry Sir. Of course Sir. When is the raid Sir?”

“At One Fifteen. All the professional clientele will be there by then for their lunchtime indulgences, and Vice really want to crack down on this filth, get everyone they can, so there’s no hiding place behind Judge’s skirts.”

“Yes, Sir, absolutely Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re dismissed Robinson. Be upstairs in Vice at Half Past Twelve.”

Jack saluted his superior officer and left the room quickly. It was almost Eleven O’clock. He had an hour and a half to research everything he could about the laws of prostitution.

Jack had been walking out with a girl who lived three houses down from him in Richmond. Victoria, named for the last queen as so many girls had been, was a lovely girl, and Jack liked her, an awful lot. She made him feel all tingly in his stomach. Just last week, after three months of visits to the picture house and shared bags of chips on the way home, he had finally kissed her. He hadn’t really known what he was doing when he’d kissed her. It had all been a bit messy and sloppy and he wasn’t really sure if Victoria had liked it. She had blushed bright red and dashed into her house afterwards but she was still speaking to him, so Jack figured she had not entirely hated it.

But Jack knew next to nothing about what went on between respectable married men and women. His father had explained to him, in hushed and awkward terms, how married relations worked. It had also been made very clear to Jack that such relations should only ever happen when he was married. Jack wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it; it seemed very badly designed, and not at all fun. He did have an idea that the services offered by brothels were very far from what went on between respectable married men and women. In the same, general arena, of course, but ‘depraved’ had been a word he had overheard used by one of the officers in Vice when he had been up there filing some paperwork a few weeks ago. Why would people visit such a place if the act wasn’t even enjoyable? As he reviewed the laws on solicitation and procurement, Jack furrowed his brow – how much ‘evidence’ could there be in beds and blankets?

*********************************

Jack looked around himself in a daze. What was all this stuff?

The actual ‘raiding’ part of the raid had gone quite well. Jack hadn’t even lost his helmet today, for which he was grateful as an angry middle-aged Chinese woman had tried to strike him with what Jack had thought at first glance was a cricket bat. After he had arrested her and had gone back to collect her weapon, Jack had realised it was not, in fact, a cricket bat. For a start it was too short, even for a junior bat. It was also too wide, and the wood was all wrong. Definitely not willow. It was a dark wood instead, maybe mahogany, Jack couldn’t be sure. He had placed it into an evidence bag and labelled it ‘wooden bat-type object’. Interesting that the staff here had items with which to defend themselves, he thought.

When Jack ventured further into the building he discovered a series of rooms. His fellow Officers had not yet removed everyone they had arrested, that was clear from the fact that there were some men handcuffed to the beds in the rooms he had walked past. Most of them had been in a state of being fully undressed, but not all of them. That confused Jack; you had to have all your clothes off to have _relations_ , didn’t you?

He had decided to leave the occupied rooms until the men had been removed. He didn’t really want any of the ‘punters’ to engage him in conversation. Making his way to the far end of the corridor, Jack decided that the methodical approach would be to work from the far end and back towards the main entrance. Taking his notebook from his pocket he made a rough sketch of the corridor and the rooms off it, deciding he would label the rooms on his diagram as he encountered them and label his evidence bags correspondingly.

Entering what he labelled as ‘Room A’, but which a sign on the door proclaimed to be ‘The Kitchen’, Jack looked around. This couldn’t be a room for ‘clients’, not a kitchen. Blinking as his eyes became used to the dim lights, Jack stared at the table he could now see more clearly in the centre of the room. There were holes in it, of various sizes, and straps of leather, and some chains threaded through some of the holes and secured to the floor underneath the table with very secure looking hasps. Jack’s gaze moved upwards to the wall. There was a rack, rather like the one his mother had in her kitchen for hanging utensils from. These _were_ kitchen utensils. That, well, _that_ was a potato masher. And _that_ was a balloon whisk.   _That_ was a spatula. There was also a rolling pin, an apple corer, a vegetable peeler, a lemon squeezer, a butter curler, a corkscrew, several sets of serving tongs, a fish slice – Jack could tell that by the shape, quite a lot of meat hooks and more metal spoons than Jack thought he had seen in his lifetime. Feeling momentarily confident Jack dropped the items into the evidence bag, labelling it ‘kitchen utensils – ‘Room A’, J Robinson’.

Making his way back down the corridor through rooms B to J, Jack made a note in his book of ropes, scarves, several sets of handcuffs that were definitely not Constabulary issue, seven belts – men’s, leather, Jack’s record noted, a collection of ties, packets and packets of women’s stockings, and a pile of stockings that had obviously been worn previously. Jack was running out of evidence bags.

Jack stuck his head around the door of the final room, the last before the main entrance into the brothel. Jack was considering everything he’d seen in the last few rooms. He wasn’t really sure why anyone would want to be tied up during sex. Surely that couldn’t be pleasurable? Some of the stockings looked like they had been stretched to the limit of their elasticity, which Jack also questioned – all the women they had arrested had been small, petite girls. None of them had thighs that would have stretched the stockings that much. Not that Jack had considered the thighs of girls who were prostitutes. That was unseemly; they were unseemly.

The label on the door proclaimed ‘The Stable’ and the contents of this room were not the first thing that came to Jack’s attention. The first was the smell. Jack recognised that smell; it was mens’ release. Jack was not entirely naive. He harboured thoughts, occasionally, about doing rather more than just kissing Victoria, and his body responded to those thoughts and Jack found himself, almost without awareness, taking himself by the hand as he lay in his bed at night, stroking himself until his release came. A very quiet release so as not to wake his brothers sleeping in the same room. But this was of a quantity that set Jack’s mind reeling.

There were iron rings, secured into the wall around the room. There were items made of wood that had been worn down over time, arranged around the room. Jack had no idea what any of this was for. Moving towards the wooden items, Jack examined them. They were far too large for any evidence bag. There were scratch marks, as if people had been gripping the wood and clinging on. A table in the middle of the room caught Jack’s attention.

There was another of those small cricket bat like items. Jack picked it up; one side was lined with material. Jack stroked his hand over the material, it was soft and thick. What was this for? He experimentally tapped the item against the leather of one of the gloves he was wearing whilst he gathered the evidence. Looking around to check no-one was near he heard noise from the street as the Vice Officers hauled the last of the men from the small rooms into the back of the police carriage.

Removing his glove, Jack felt a surprising guilt rise within him as he experimentally tapped the soft material against his hand. It felt, well, Jack wasn’t sure what it was that he felt. He turned the item over, and clapped the wood against his palm. Oh, that stung. He turned the item back over and bounced the soft material against his palm. Oh, that soothed. Jack rotated the paddle a few more times, alternating between the hard wood and soft velvet. He supposed that a person could be hit with this in places other than on the hand, but he still wasn’t sure why you would want to be. Placing the paddle in his last but one evidence bag, Jack turned his attentions back to the table.

There was an array of items, all of which could be broadly described as phallus shaped. Within that description an amazing variety of options were available to the clientele of this establishment. There were false phalluses, made of smoothed, polished wood. There were some that appeared to be constructed of very thick vulcanised rubber. There were some that were attached to harnesses. Jack frowned. All of the prostitutes here were women, all of the clients, men. Why would phalluses be needed in these circumstances? There were some very small rubber items, that looked like the tops of the iron railings outside City Central. Picking one up, Jack squeezed it, experimentally.

“They go up your arsehole,” said a gruff voice behind Jack.

Flustered, Jack dropped the item onto the table, where it bounced a few times before coming to rest. Turning to look towards the door Jack was unsure what he should do.

“First raid son?” said the Officer.

Mutely, Jack nodded.

“Ah well, you’ll see worse than this before your career’s done. Fucking deviant, all of this. I’m Inspector Hall. You are?”

“Cadet Robinson, Sir.” Replied Jack, trying to put the evidence bag on the table so he could salute. He suddenly felt like he was a deviant himself, for even daring to wonder what the sensation of that ‘bat’ might feel like.

“Don’t bother about that,” said Inspector Hall, “have you managed to label any of this stuff correctly?”

“Honestly, Sir, I hate to seem green, but this is my first raid, and I haven’t spent any time in Vice yet, Sir, and I can’t even imagine what all this stuff is for, let alone what it’s supposed to be labelled as. Sir.”

“How old are you son?”

“Eighteen, Sir.” Jack gulped in terror.

The older man grunted and approached the table, where Jack had rested his collection of evidence bags. Rooting through them he indicated the contents; “That’s a paddle, not a cricket bat. That’s another one of ‘em,” he nodded towards the wood and material covered item in the in the most recent evidence bag. “These here are referred to as ‘dildos’, also go up your arsehole, if you’re that way inclined. Which I’ll wager you’re not.” The older man smiled at Jack, as he waved at the phalluses. Jack’s mind was reeling. “Over there, “The man nodded towards a table in the corner Jack had not previously noticed, “they’re the electrical things, don’t even know what they’re supposed to be called myself. Shove them against your bollocks though and you know about it. Apparently. Electrical massagers, I believe some of them are being sold as. Not sure about the other things.” Disconcertingly, the man smiled at Jack, who swallowed nervously. It was suddenly hot in here, very hot.

The man pointed to more items laid out on the table before them, “rectal dilators” he indicated the butt plug Jack had dropped earlier, “arab straps, whips, although those are obvious, I’d hope?” Jack nodded, as Inspector Hall continued, “ball locks, triple crown, and these,” he picked up some scraps of cloth that Jack had assumed were rags for cleaning, “these are fifi’s. Label ‘em up, get ‘em out of here.”

Jack staggered from the room, his arms weighed down with his bags of evidence.

 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

“And you had no idea what any of it was for?”

“Phryne, I was eighteen. I had never been with a woman, let alone observed anything else of what occurs between people.” Jack took a drink of the wine from the glass that was on the low table beside the chaise.

“And now?”

“Well obviously I’ve been with a woman now. My marriage wasn’t always devoid of affection.”

“Good to hear, Jack. And have you ever wondered about any of the things you encountered that day?”

“I understand some of them, I think. I do understand now, about men feeling desire for other men, I saw enough of it in the War.”

“Really?”

“Really. In the horror of the trenches some men sought comfort wherever they could find it. I wasn’t about to put anyone on a charge when they were probably about to go to their deaths anyway.”

“Very liberal minded of you Jack.”

“I do try, Phryne.”

“I know you do. Now about the part where you hit yourself on the palm with the flogger.” Phryne practically purred.

“What about it?”

“How did that feel?”

Jack considered for a moment. “It was like, a jolt of pain, and then a jolt of, I don’t know, I think ‘pleasure’ is too strong a word.”

“Did you like it?”

Jack bit his lip as Phryne ran her fingers down his shirt-sleeved arm. His suit jacket and his tie had already found their way to the floor of Phryne’s boudoir; his top two shirt buttons had been undone.

“Jack?” Leaning forwards slightly, Phryne whispered into Jack’s ear, “It’s fine if you did Jack, there’s _nothing_ wrong with it.”

“Yes.” Jack whispered, “Yes, I liked it. But I don’t understand it. And I don’t understand why someone would enjoy being beaten.”

“It’s all about control, Jack. Yielding it, taking it. Knowing your limits. Demonstrating total trust in your partner. And ‘beaten’ is perhaps overplaying it. A lightness of touch is more usual, I understand.”

“Hmm. And the Electrical Massager, Phryne?”

“What about it Jack?”

“Well you know what they’re for.”

“I do.”

“And you know how to change, the bits.”

Phryne giggled. “I do Jack.”

“Do you own one?”

“I don’t. I’ve, encountered one, with a previous, dalliance. But many women do have them, for their, _ongoing treatment_.”

“ _You_ don’t appear to be ‘hysterical’, Phryne?”

“Oh ‘hysteria’, a ridiculous term for women who have the audacity to experience sexual desire and who refuse to keep quiet about it.”

“You’re not quiet about it.”

“But I am no man’s wife. I am responsible for myself. I am responsible for my own desires, and I can choose whether or not to indulge them. And I only take lovers who understand that I am not a meek little woman who will just lie there whilst they grunt away.”

“Well, indeed.” Jack tried not to think about that too much – the possibility of being one of Phryne’s lovers. They were still dancing around the edge of, well, anything. This was not the first time he had managed to find his way to her boudoir. But at least he stood a chance of remembering it this time. Even if this time he thought he would probably be leaving before the clock in the hall downstairs had struck midnight.

“I don’t think I would ever want a woman who would just lie there. From what, admittedly little, I do know, it should be a, well, a shared expression of _mutual_ , desire.” Jack stroked the pad of his thumb across Phryne’s wrist. “But what does it mean, Phryne, that I enjoyed that, brief moment? Does that make _me_ a deviant?”

“Not at all Jack,” said Phryne, running her free hand through his hair, trailing her finger nail across the skin covering his skull behind his ear.

Jack swallowed, allowing his eyes to flutter closed. Phryne dug her fingernails in deeper as they traced down Jack’s neck. He shuddered, involuntarily. “Do you like that, Jack?”

“Yes” he breathed.

“Does it, arouse you?”

“Yes.” He admitted.

“And yet,” said Phryne, as she curled her fingernails underneath his collar, winding a path across the back of his neck, “this could be defined as pain, rather than pleasure.” She paused, considering her words carefully, “I would suggest, perhaps, that what you experienced that day was merely a more intense form of _this_ ” and she dragged her fingernails across the back of his shirt, where the edge of his collar met the edge of his waistcoat.

Jack shuddered, more visibly this time. “Phryne” he half-choked her name.

“ _Not_ deviant, Jack. Not at all. And I would hope, eventually, we can answer some of your as yet unasked questions about what else you saw that day.” Phryne pressed her lips to his temple, the top of his ear, his earlobe. Jack tilted his head as Phryne’s lips moved slowly down his face.

“Can I hold you to that?” he asked, on a whisper, his hand trailing up to her cheek, the back of his fingers tracing a path down her cheek.

“You can,” Phryne answered, as they both closed the gap between them, their lips meeting properly for the very first time. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've actually done research for this! I'm unsure as to whether the sort of vegetable peeler I refer to *was* actually available at this time. All the other kitchen utensils definitely were, so they're fine. Also, and dear me, today is *not* the day for the government to start monitoring my internet history, as far as I can ascertain, everything else Cadet Robinson stumbles on in the chinese brothel was in use in c1912. Which is roughly when I'm saying this is set.


End file.
